Enemies leave its funny when we provoked anger becomes tender. Then all the grievances, the mutual violence, conspiracies, everything must be resolved in an embarrassed hug, a last look full of goodbyes and sirens.
The Follonero interview, talks with Federico Jiménez Losantos on the feast of the twentieth anniversary of the World. His last game abounded in feints and wet bold. Buffaloes were strong. Echoed the prairie. The sons of bitches that I have to put up, smiled Losantos. Do you mean for me? challenged the Follonero. No, how can you ask? Rioja confirmed. Then Frederick was the voice of the COPE franchise. Nothing escaped his intelligent malice. No matter that it was the weather forecast, traffic conditions or a control session the government. Frederick drew his r timid among disqualifications, and other artifacts boric slapstick. It was the immortal Spain waxing, Suresh sheepskins, counting ribs, winning, winning again and little joke.
From his side of the ring, the Sixth rode their commercial batteries. We want a consumer television embrosquile alpha when put next sun, Jaume Roures said, and so tended a bridgehead in the charismatic figure of Jordi Evole, a screenwriter-turned-actor and nurtured in the rich chests Terrat.
broncos were good times. Days of heroes and blood. But time passes and the conflicts that help us live away. Losing an enemy is worse than losing a friend or love. If your friends and your partner will always betray you can get the rough comfort of hate, but if you let an enemy then what? Then nothing, then looking down, then the tips of the shoes, hand in my pocket, I see great, yes, I also ... well I hope there. Goodbye.
Federico Federico is not. They hit a sotanazo and outside is no longer Federico Cope. Nor in the world, although the figure of the outsider grow now that Zapatero wet Pedro J and champagne toast in a hotel bed. Federico alone. Worse than alone. He is accompanied by his memories, the nostalgia of a grandeur that did not happen. I always will want to don Federico, said his family but was a lie. At least I knew.
The reunion between Losantos Follonero and has been the embodiment of sadness. Federico is shorter even than Jordan, and parked side by side to him as a child, he wanted to close the camera brightness of La Sexta. With him went the Minister Sebastian, Zapatero and Pedro J. He was regarded as the brother drunk who vomits at the door after Christmas dinner and disgusts us because we know that sleep alone in a dirty room full of handkerchiefs with stiff semen. All three were laughing. It was the Follonero after hug. Federico was allowed one last cape fainted. Arc across the party opened up the tail of peacock for new friends.
Losantos still smiling. Without understanding exactly who was now. Now that was no longer an enemy. Not even an enemy.
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